


Panto Season Wrap Up

by Riennynn



Category: British Actor RPF, Doctor Who RPF, Real Person Fiction, Torchwood RPF
Genre: Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riennynn/pseuds/Riennynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott's least favorite part of panto season was the no enthusiastic sex rule.</p><p>It's the closing night, and John has a surprise for Scott in his dressing room.</p><p>Absolutely shameless smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panto Season Wrap Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parapraxis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parapraxis/gifts).



> John and Scott belong to each other. I'm only borrowing them for a bit of minimal plot sex.
> 
> As always, for Prax who shares (and encourages) my adoration of BarrowGill.

Scott's least favorite part of panto season was the "no enthusiastic sex" rule.  

It had grown from the "no overly strenuous bedroom activities while John has a show" guideline they'd adopted early on in the relationship.  It had been easier to get away with at the start of things, as two vigorous men in their late twenties and early thirties.  Even so, pinning John up against the staircase railing for a quickie that left him with a sore back, or a crick in the neck from an hour spent giving mutual blowjobs distracted him from his performance on stage.  They hadn't heeded to caution until a particularly adventurous encounter where John had decided to take him in the backseat of the car before a matinee and ended up straining his shoulder.  

Thus, the rule had been grudgingly born and even more grudgingly respected.

As they'd progressed into their forties and - Scott muttered to himself - fifty this last year, creative sex remained on the menu, but not as often.  Hardly for lack of desire, it was simply that they'd tried out almost everything and every place they both wanted in the last twenty years.

Panto season was always particularly demanding on John physically, from the cold temperatures that wreaked havoc during stage door appearances to the singing, dancing, and stunts of the performances themselves.  More often than not, he tucked John into bed after a final cup of tea for nothing more than cuddles and a footrub to ease his aching ankles.  

Scott didn't begrudge his husband the time he spent on stage, or even the shared handjobs and exhausted kisses that seemed to be all he could muster up the energy for afterwards.  It was the rueful sigh they both shared after giving each other the eye over breakfast, or the naughty texts that couldn't really lead anywhere after he came to pick John up from the theater.

Tonight though, was the final performance of the season.  Scott shifted in his seat again, listening to the conversation ebb and flow under the darkening house lights.  After tonight, John could take a well-earned vacation, rest his voice and his body.  And the next time he leaned against the counter at breakfast and deliberately drew attention to the curve of his arse, Scott could take him up on the silent offer without wondering if he was going to leave him walking awkwardly.

John Barrowman had the finest arse in existence.  And the panto tights did nothing to hide it, or the visible bulge of his well-formed package.

Shifting slightly in his seat, he readjusted himself in his jeans and forcibly reminded himself that it was only a few hours until he had John back in their hotel room.  Thus fortified, Scott leaned back and did his best to enjoy the show.

After the final curtain call, Scott was ushered backstage to John's dressing room.  As was their custom, John did his best to reenact the scene of their first meeting: bent over, jeans and briefs around his ankles, arse in full view when he heard Scott's distinctive knock.  

Scott was already leering as he shut the door, turning the lock and leaning on the door as he admired the view.  John slowly shimmied into his jeans, never breaking eye contact in the mirror over his dressing table.

"You've got the stage door in fifteen!" John's assistant rapped three times on the door and called through it.  "I'll be back then!"

Scott took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of sweat and stage makeup and underneath it all, the distinct John smell.  "It was absolutely brilliant, darling.  Want a shoulder rub before we go meet your adoring fans?"

John fidgeted, shuffling back and forth a bit oddly.  "Yeah, thanks honey."  He sat down slowly on the chair, propping his elbows on the dressing table and reaching for a wipe to start taking off the stage makeup.

As he cleaned off the layers of powder and cream, John continued talking.  "Best panto season turnout I've seen so far.  Ohhhh, right there."  Scott pressed harder on a particularly stubborn knot, kneading the muscles at the base of his husband's neck.  The slight erection he'd been sporting all night twitched at the sound of John's appreciative moans.

John was twitching under his hands more than sore muscles should account for.  "Are you all right?  Do I need to find you some paracetamol?"  He bent down to drop a kiss onto John's sweaty hair, and noticed the distinctive bulge in the tight denims.  "Or not.  Feeling randy?"

Waggling his eyebrows in the mirror, John turned his head and caught Scott's thumb between his teeth.  "I've got a surprise for you, honey."

"You've ten minutes until the stage door.  Can it wait?  And if it's what I think it is, it's hardly a surprise after this long."

"I've been waiting weeks.  First you weren't here, then you were in Jordan, then when you got back it was all panto.  I  _need_ you, Scottie."

Scott nuzzled his neck.  "You can wait an hour or so, then we'll be back at the hotel.  And you had better do something about that, unless you want the screaming hordes of women out there to see it."  He tugged an earlobe between his lips.  "Actually, scratch that.  You'd give them too much to talk about if they saw it.  Shall I give you a quick suck?"

"I've a better idea."  John stood and pushed the chair to the side with his foot.  His fingers were busy unbuckling his belt, then unbuttoning his jeans.  Licking his lips lewdly, he bent forward and slowly slid jeans and briefs both down his thighs.

"Mmmm.  We don't have time for that.  We've barely nine before your assistant is banging to door down."

"Why don't you bang me down?"

Scott groaned.  "That's terrible, even for you.  Besides, have you even brought any lube in here?  We don't have time...oh my god, you didn't."  As he arched forward, the vanity lights picked up the telltale sheen of lube on his husband's inner thighs and the base of their favorite black silicone plug nestled between those deliciously rounded cheeks.  The ever-present erection swelled and throbbed painfully.  "You did."

John chuckled wickedly and braced his elbows on the dressing table.  "No prep needed.  And I know you can do me before Rhys gets back for the stage door."  He wiggled his hips, and Scott watched as his arse swayed hypnotically.  "Do me, Tottie.  I  _need_ you."

"Fuck.  John.  This is a terrible idea."  His fingers seemed to be moving of their own accord, unbuttoning his flies and pushing briefs aside.  John pressed back against the heated flesh exposed, grinding and moaning softly.

"Do me.  Now."

"We really should wait - "  Seeing that arse, framed by jeans and rucked up shirt, decided him.

One quick glance made sure the door was locked.  Their occasional thrill at the thought of exhibitionist behavior didn't extend as far as scandalizing the entire theater staff.  Stepping forward, Scott, planted a firm hand on John's lower back, pinning him to the dressing table.  The other hand gripped the base of the plug, giving it a twist before pulling it out and swiftly replacing it with his own erection.

The drawn out moan John gave was cut off by the hand Scott slapped over his husband's mouth.  Leaning forward, letting his weight hold John down, Scott whispered into his ear.  

"Shhh, darling.'  Thrust.

"You asked for it," thrust, "and we can't have," another cut off moan, "anyone knowing what you're doing in here."

John's hand reached back, gripping Scott's thigh.  "Can't let them know that John Barrowman is bent over in his dressing room," he picked up speed, the dressing table shaking with their combined force, "having his arse fucked," John's hand slipped underneath his shirt tails, working himself furiously, "because he couldn't wait.  Were you thinking of me the entire time tonight?" John's breath huffed out of his nose over the back of his hand.  "Did you plan this?"

Scott slid his hand aside and John gasped in a deep breath, gasping open-mouthed.  "Wanted you so bad, Tottie."  Pant.  Groan.  "Got ready while they were getting you.  Needed you."  He sucked Scott's fingers into his mouth, tongue slipping over them obscenely.  "So close."

"I'm going to come in your arse, John."  He was on edge now, barely holding out, waiting for John to fall first.  "Then I'm going to plug you back up.  Want you walking around full of my come.  Signing autographs and taking photos.  The fans will never know."

He watched in the mirror as John's eyes rolled up slightly, feeling the heat around him clench, and smiled wickedly before setting his teeth in the back of John's shoulder and following him over.

Scott steeled himself against the post-coital lethargy, and grabbed the plug off the dressing table.  As John slumped forward, the last of his orgasm still pulsing through him, he carefully pulled out and slid the silicone back into place.

When Rhys knocked on the door a minute and a half later, both of them were buttoned and neatly dressed, casually holding hands.  As they followed John's assistant out to the stage door, they shared a secret smile.

It was going to be a hell of a night once they got back to their hotel.


End file.
